


The Whirlwind

by Barbeauxbot



Series: Always Dragging That Horse Around: The Love, Marriage, and Everything Else In Between of Loki and Sigyn [13]
Category: Cracksmash - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbeauxbot/pseuds/Barbeauxbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Of the Four Beasts

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set about ten years after kid!Loki happens. Sigyn is now living on Midgard with their children, Nori and Varli (yes I know their names are wrong, it’s my mistake). Sigyn and Loki have been estranged ever since she discovered that he was once again a child.

The cold always gets to Varli eventually. It seeps into his bones and makes him dull and irritable. Angrboda is unperturbed by the temperature, of course. She walks in long strides, unencumbered by heavy furs, her solid blue limbs carrying her across the treacherous terrain while Varli, wrapped in furs and half her size, struggles to keep up. Her comments grate even more than usual because of it.

"You believe I speak in jest?" Angrboda smirks, her jutting fangs glinting in the permanent dusk of Jotunheim.

"I believe it does not matter whether you are in earnest or not," Varli huffs and pulls his cloak tighter around him. "The point is moot. I do not wish to sire a slug or a sea cucumber or whatever else that may result in such a union."

Angrboda chuckles and his irritation boils into anger. "You give yourself too little credit, godling. The anger inside you? You would give rise to a badger. Or at least a hedgehog."

Varli grimaces. "You assume I am as fascinated by procreation as my father." He pauses at the edge of the cliff and closes his eyes, stills his heart, and reaches out with his mind's eye into the abyss. "I do not wish to sire _any_ children."

"Oh, but you will." Angrboda crouches and begins to build a fire. "You are your father's son, more so than your brothers. Though you should not let it go to your head. You are but a pale copy."

Varli grits his teeth. "I am my own man." And taller, which Loki could not take away from him. A paltry victory, to be sure, but Varli claims victories where he can find them.

Angrboda laughs again. Varli does his best to ignore her, and instead turns his attention to seeking out the pins between realms. He finds one, wedged in the gap between Vanheim and Nornheim, tiny and delicate. Beautiful, like all things Vanir. He begins to coax it free.

"You are not." She sparks a flame. "Not yet. When you are, though," she fans the flames into a small blaze. "When you are truly your own man I could give you a dragon child."

Varli takes a deep breath and wills himself to focus on the task. The pin is buried deep, and barbed at the end. Beautiful and tricky. Like all things Vanir. "I do not wish to lie with you, Angrboda. You are the mother of my brothers."

She rises and saunters over to him. "Do not be so squeamish. You are a god after all."

"First of all," he lifts one finger. "Technically, I am a demigod."

"Quadrigod. Your mother is half Vanir."

"Second of all," he lifts a second finger, refusing to acknowledge her statement. "We are Aesir. Not the Pantheon. If you wish to lay with the sons of your former lovers, go pester the Greeks." He concentrates harder, pulling and shifting the pin slowly, absolutely certain he could loosen it without breaking it. Sweat beads on his forehead and is immediately chilled in the wind. He can feel his pulse pounding under his skin.

"The Greeks are so dull compared to your clan." Angrboda steps closer. Uncomfortably so. "They do not have your passion."

"Perhaps they simply have less patience for your nonsense." Varli's lip curls in a sneer. "Do you mind? You crowd me."

"No," Angrboda chuckles.

Varli's anger flares anew and he yanks the pin. "I do not know how many ways I need to explicitly reject you, woman—" And then he feels it deep in his bones: the soft, subtle _snap_ of the pin breaking in half.

"Oh no," Angrboda drawls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Did something go wrong?"


	2. That Last Offered Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn's work as ambassador keeps her away from home, which leaves her unprepared for sudden disaster.

Sigyn is in Paris. She has not been home in years.

And she cannot say when she stopped thinking of her dear villa in Asgard as "home" and instead started thinking of the Embassy in New York. Perhaps because that's where her heart lies. With her children and… Their father.

She had left because she did not trust her own strength. Because she caught a glimpse of a look in Loki's eyes that was swiftly hidden. It was a look of longing and regret and other emotions far too old for his young self. So she ran. Alone. Her sons were nearly grown and would do better staying with their uncle and teachers and friends that they had come to love.

She had no choice. Her husband was dead. The young prince's resemblance in appearance and behavior did not change the fact was that he was a different person. A person who deserved the chance to live his own life without her dreary, reproachful shadow haunting him.

Besides, it was important that she establish solid relations with the other nations in the world, lest they start to believe the gods favored the United States as much as the United States believed they were favored by the gods.

It was a long, grueling process that took her to every inch of the realm. But when it happens she is in Paris.

She is dancing with a stranger. Central Europe has proven frustrating in general, but she enjoys some small victories in Paris and so rewards herself with music and strong drinks and dancing with a stranger.

The man is tall and lean and moves gracefully. If she closes her eyes and ignores the fact that his hands are far too warm and he smells like smoke and wine and cologne and not him. He had smelled of ice and magic and the wild places he had traveled and what mortal could hope to compare?

This is a mistake, she realizes. She cannot maintain the clever banter and flirty looks. All she feels for this man is contempt. She excuses herself and goes outside for a cigarette

The balcony affords a splendid view of the city, and she smokes in peace, her hands shaking a little as she tries to train her thoughts away from the things she has lost. It would be better if Thor had just let him stay dead. Then she could have moved on. Instead of lingering in the twilight of grief, watching the life she had loved repeat itself without her.

Instead of calming, her hands begin to shake harder. She tries to steady her breathing, will herself to be calm like she always can. But it just gets worse. She can hear a rumbling cacophony. Crashing stones and rushing water. The smell of fire. The heat from the flames on her hands and face and then she is engulfed in a great, blinding light.

She cries out once before collapsing.


	3. Won't Be Treated Just the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori struggles to keep order at home.

The water striking his face is ice cold. The tiles are cold under him. He shivers. There is the sound of glass shards tinkling against tile.

 _Open your eyes_. He opens his eyes. The shower door has been shattered, he lies in a pool of glass and freezing cold water tinged pink with blood.

 _Sit up_. He sits up slowly, wincing at the stinging pain of lacerations on his stomach and arm, a fine lattice of wounds. He wonders if they will leave scars, and examines them critically. An interesting pattern, scars would please him.

 _Nori_. He blinks and wipes water out of his eyes. The voice he hears speaks with a tone of command. Familiar. Remote. The water stops. He looks up and sees a hand on the faucet. He follows the hand, then the arm, then the shoulder, then the face. A familiar face, with worried eyes and a frown. He cannot attach a name to the face but he does feel he can trust her. He thinks this is unusual. "Nori," the voice coming from the familiar face repeats. And then she speaks words that he can't understand.

He rubs his face and smooths his hair back. "Forgive me, but could you repeat that?" He asks. He knows he is not in Asgard, and should not be speaking Aesir. But he cannot remember any other words. His tongue feels heavy, his lips stiff.

The familiar woman presses her lips together and nods once. She then hands him a towel and coaxes him to stand.

It takes Nori about an hour to recover the ability to speak the mortal tongue. He puts on pants and goes to his mother's office. The woman with the familiar face, friend Kate, follows him and dresses his wounds while he starts making phone calls, trying to determine what has happened.

He quickly realizes that nobody knows and the mortals are calling him for answers. How can he have answers? He doesn't even know where his family is. He does not say this. He tries to behave as his mother always did during crises. Giving non-answers and stalling for time while seeming very godly and remote and all-knowing. This seems to mollify them. He has to fight the near-hysterical laughter that simmers under his skin at how easily they are satisfied with his pretense.

They give him reports of strange happenings, sounds and lights and blazing fires in the night sky and enormous, unidentifiable masses in the skies. Explosions and earthquakes and eruptions as gravitational pulls and tectonic plates shift. He finds it harder and harder to keep up the act.

Uncle is gone. So are Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Mother and Loki are missing. Varli is still on a mysterious journey. Nori does his best to remain calm. But he cannot stop his hands from shaking and refuses to eat when Kate suggests he try. He feels sick in his bones and does not believe he will be able to consume anything without vomiting.

His mother's absence is the most troubling. Nori has a sense of what might be happening, and that explains the absence of all the others. But Sigyn would not fly into battle with them. She always stays behind to mind the home and keep them informed. He is on the phone with the secretary of state, trying to come up with some vague reason for why she has not contacted them, when Loki appears.

Nori quickly ends the call and jumps to his feet. "Father! Thank the Ancestors." And immediately realizes his mistake.

Loki stops in front of him, frowning as he always did when Nori addressed him as such. He then shakes his head as if dismissing it. This time. "Where is everybody?" He looks Nori over again and quirks an eyebrow. "And why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"I do not know," Nori feels hollow, helpless. Like he is letting Loki down. "Kate has been helping me." He glances down at the bandages on his torso and arm. "I forgot about the shirt. Do you know where Mother is?" It was a foolish hope. And possibly cruel to ask. As far as he knew, Sigyn still refused to speak to Loki and it was something of a sore point.

Loki clenches his teeth, a muscle twitches on his jaw. "Her agenda is in the top right drawer. That should tell you where she was planning to be."

Nori nods and finds the leather-bound datebook. "She was supposed to go to Milan today."

Loki tilts his head. "I think we can assume those plans have been canceled. Where was she?"

"Paris." Nori looks up. "Do you think she might still be there?"

"It's as good a place to start as any. Stay here. If the others ask, you can tell them I've gone to fetch her."

And then he is gone. The phone starts to ring again. Nori frowns at it like that could make it stop. "Kate!" He yells out to the other room. "I need a shirt!"


	4. Who To Free and Who To Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki travels to Paris and discovers what has delayed Sigyn.

It is always strange to walk the streets of Paris, so Loki generally prefers not to. Memories of Serrure, the boy who never really was but is still a part of him, haunts him as he makes his way to the hospital. If there had been any other way to recover Sigyn, he would have gladly taken that option instead. But the others are all traveling other realms. Except Nori, who is in no condition to be doing much of anything, much less Sigyn's job. Or tracking her down.

He does not have time for this. But he knows that Sigyn would never have stayed in Paris of her own free will as Asgard imploded. He also knows that she will not be pleased to see him, a fact which already stings and is not going to get better. He runs the tip of his thumb over the inside of his ring finger on his left hand, feeling the absence where his wedding band should be, and wonders if Serrure would have loved her, as well.

Pausing outside the doors to the hospital, he extends his consciousness, searching for her. He quickly locates her unmistakeable presence, the fierce unyielding strength of her, but flickering like a weak pulse. There is no time to waste. He opens a portal and transports immediately to her bedside.

The sight of her stuns him for a moment. She is tiny and fragile and pale. They have strapped her in to the bed, and she fights against the bonds even though she is clearly drugged, her eyes glassy and unseeing and her movements jerky. There are bruises on her arms from what appears to be the injection sites.

His rage is indescribable, it is all he can do to not ignite the building in a blaze of helfire.

She focuses on him and her confusion only grows. "Loki? Will you help me, please?" She asks in Aesir, her voice weak. "Something is wrong."

"Of course I will, m'lady." There is a hollow feeling in his chest as he goes to her and begins unbuckling the straps. "I apologize for my tardiness." Of course, he could not possibly have gotten there any sooner, but that does not stop the sick feeling of failure. What tortures and indignities had she been subjected to at the hands of the mortal physicians?

"The guards will not let me leave and I do not know what they are saying." There is a tremor in her voice. She flexes her fingers as her arm is freed.

"Guards?" He looks up just in time to dodge the attack. Sigyn cries out and shields her face with her free arm. He grabs the guard by the arm and the throat and throws him into the wall. "Asgard will not tolerate this insult!" He declares in French. "You have detained my wife illegally and I will free her."

The other guard stares at him, then at Sigyn. "She has not been released. And attacked a doctor."

"Loki, what are you saying?" Sigyn's voice trembles on the edge of panicked tears. "Who are these people? Where am I? Something terrible has happened." The last bit she says more to herself than to him, lost and afraid.

"We will leave here, now." Loki tells the guard, his voice low and menacing as he strokes Sigyn's hair, trying to soothe her despite the white-hot rage burning in his blood. She calms slightly, and peers up at him with confusion clear in her eyes. "The only question is whether or not you will survive."

He watches as the guard struggles with his conscience for a moment, and then lifts his hands in surrender. Loki hides his relief. It is going to take the rest of the magic he has to transport them back to New York, he has none to waste on subduing thugs. He works quickly to free Sigyn. She assists as best as she can, her fingers fumbling. He realizes they must have dosed her with a staggering amount of sedatives to incapacitate her so thoroughly, and has to fight the urge to kill both guards despite their current cooperation

"Oh, thank the ancestors for you, your highness," Sigyn says, her voice hitching as soon as she is free. "I hate to impose, you have assisted me so much already, but can you help me go home?" She tries to get stand and nearly collapses.

He catches her and holds her close. She stiffens in his arms for just a moment, and then curls her fingers in his shirt and presses her face against his chest. "Of course I will help you, m'lady." He says quietly as he opens a portal.

"You are most kind." She clings to him as they move. He marvels at how small she is, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. She looms so much greater in his imagination. "I do not know how I will repay you."

"You do not owe me anything, Lady Sigyn." He pauses just a moment outside the portal and breathes her in. Under the smell of antiseptic and sedatives is the smell of her. Warm honey and paper and ink and the forest when it is covered in first snow. "You do not owe me anything."

They step through the portal together.


	5. Let Him Be Righteous Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varli begins to deal with the consequences

Varli returns to his apartment not long after it starts. He does not call his mother or his brother or anybody else.

The guilt is indescribable, and he drapes himself over the toilet, retching and sobbing. They knew. Angrboda knew the whole time. Loki _must_ have known _something_. They used him.

Maybe because they did not have the ability to do what he did. Maybe to keep their hands clean. Maybe just to amuse themselves at his expense. But they used him and he was the catalyst to ignite Ragnarok.

His stomach roils and he retches again, though there is no longer anything to produce, not even bile. He is hollow and empty. A vessel filled with nothing but the knowledge of how little say he ever had in his own life, and how blindly, foolishly he had played into their hands.

He wipes his mouth with icy, trembling fingers and forces himself to go to the kitchen and sip some water.

He is still trying to finish that glass of water when Jen enters. Unannounced, as she always has ever since he gave her a set of keys. "Jen, my love," he smiles weakly, not as relieved to see her as he should be. As he would have been, if somebody else had done what he did.

"Hey big guy." She smiles and kisses the top of his head. "You don't look so good."

"There is great turmoil in Asgard. I fear what might be happening." Which isn't exactly a lie.

She hugs him gently. "I'm so sorry."

He slides his arms around her waist and leans into her. "It is better with you here." Which is also not exactly a lie. His heart lifts to have her near. But the guilt pooling in his gut won't let him take much comfort in her.

"There's something you should know." Her voice is soft, there is a note of trepidation in it that is unusual for her. "And I don't know if it's a good thing or not or if I should tell you right now or not but _dammit_ you need to know. And I promised myself I would tell you as soon as I got in so I wouldn't chicken out again."

He rubs her back, soothing her a little. "Speak. I will listen."

"I'm, um." She dips her head and presses her forehead to his shoulder. "I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father."

He is silent a moment, unable to comprehend how rapidly the poles of his reality shifted _again_ in so short a time. And then finds himself swept up in a wave of unexpected joy.

"Are you mad?" She lifts her head, worry clear in her eyes. "I mean I can try to get it taken care of but I'm not really sure if it would work…"

"I am not angry, my love," he whispers, not trusting himself to speak any louder. He strokes her cheek, unable to stop smiling. "This is wonderful."

She starts to cry in happiness and relief and he kisses her and holds her and for a moment, there is nothing but them in all the realms.


End file.
